


Command Me to Be Well

by NotSoSirius92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alluding to sexual violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-07-27 16:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoSirius92/pseuds/NotSoSirius92
Summary: Things get interesting as two defected Death Eaters find solace in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. When you put a Marauder up against a smart mouthed Slytherin, sparks fly, but what did you expect?Winner of best 1-5k/Admin Fave and Runner Up for best comedy in SMaR 2018 contestWarning: some alluding to rape in conversation, non graphic





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare Vol. 2! Much Love to my beta MamaPotterhead2492 and alpha KickyNikki whom I adore!  
> Song Prompt - Take Me to Church by Hozier

i.  
My Lovers Got Humor  
-or-  
The Snakes in the Lions Den

 

 

“No.”

“You haven’t even-”

“I said no.”

“Be reasonable -”

“I am being reasonable, Remus. Explain to me why I should allow a Death Eater, defected or not, into my home where my godson stays?”

“Death Eaters, plural, Sirius, and one of them is your cousin. The other... well, she tagged along for the ride.”

“For fuck’s sake, I suppose this is another one of Dumbledore’s orders?”

“Are you going to let us through or not?”

“Oh, come on, Moony, you love me and my charitable nature.”

“Move over, you mangy mutt.”

A tall, lanky man strode through the fireplace where his head was hovering only moments ago. He dusted his hair and shoulders off before coming over to embrace the other man tightly. Sirius returned his best mate’s embrace enthusiastically, having been stuck in his home alone for the moment as all of its occupants were currently on one order mission or the other. 

Pulling Sirius back, Remus smiled, his amber eyes lighting up. “Sirius, mate, you’re looking good.”

And indeed his friend was. Freedom looked good on Sirius Black. His hair was slightly longer that he usually kept it, sitting between his shoulder blades. His grey eyes were twinkling, though you could still see the haunting Azkaban had caused. His skin, the parts that weren’t covered in tattoos, was pale, but not sickly. Remus detected a hint of brandy, and tobacco, knowing that though it was noon, this was of little matter to his friend, who considered any hour, happy hour.

Sirius was looking over Remus’ shoulder at the two individuals that had followed him through the floo. One was a young man, no more than twenty, with silvery blonde hair, and alabaster skin that was slightly tinged with soot. 

Draco’s likeness to his father was uncanny, Sirius thought as he sneered at the man. 

“You seriously expect us to believe you’ve turned traitor to your master? What? You got tired of licking his boots?”

Draco’s face pinched slightly. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Black. I’ve proven my loyalty to Dumbledore, and Snape vouches for me. I do not need your handouts. I’m only here so my head doesn’t end up on a pike in front of the Ministry. Or did you think the Dark Lord was going to reward me for giving your Order a list of his bunkers?”

The two men were standing face to face now, neither one willing to show the other weakness. Draco’s eyes were hard, the cool grey of his irises unfaltering, proving that though he was his father’s likeness, there was still some Black in there too. 

Maybe they both took note of this, because their stances relaxed slightly and tension in their shoulders lessened. 

Sirius sighed, “Where is Narcissa? She wouldn’t let you off to this side on your own. She would value her son over pureblood mania.”

Draco’s face was impassive as he said, “She was killed as we were making our escape. Bellatrix always was the quicker draw, as I’m sure you remember.”

Sirius’s heart gave a slight lurch, but he had mourned the loss of his family long ago. 

“I’m sorry, Draco.” He finally said, and Draco nodded his thanks, his eyes flaring in anguish, but didn’t say anything else on the matter, as was pureblood custom. 

“Now that we’ve measured our dicks - can you show me to my room? I have grit in places that it would not be ladylike to mention.” 

Draco snorted, “I don’t see any ladies here.”

Sirius turned his head to look at the body he’d not paid attention to since the two had walked in. She was standing with a hand on her hip, her expression one of disdain. Her hair was long and dark over her shoulders, reaching to the dip in her waist and had a slight wave to it. She was short, which amused Sirius because he could see that her attitude didn’t quite fit her slight nature. Her green eyes found his and he smirked. 

“Who are you?” he asked eloquently. 

“I’m Pansy. Parkinson,” she stated bluntly. “Do not expect me to play at niceties because that shit does not fly with me. I was raised a lady and though my mouth may convince you otherwise, a lady is what I am. Now, can you, or can you not show me to my room?” 

She was spicy. 

Sirius’s cock may have twitched, only a little.  
“Third floor, last door on the left,” he said, watching as she sashayed up the stairs, the sound of her heels against the wood echoing behind her. 

Draco sighed as he turned back to the older men, “She’s my best friend,” he said, as if that explained his friend’s dismissive behavior. 

“Oh, no worries, lad, “ Sirius said, “pureblood wenches always have a bit of an attitude, never goes away. My advice, find a nice muggleborn to settle down with.” 

Draco only rolled his eyes and followed his friend up the stairs, seemingly taking the room adjacent hers.

“She’s got a sense of humor,” Sirius mused, ignoring the way Remus was staring at him. 

“She’s twenty years your junior, Pads,” Remus warned, “and her father is a senior Death Eater. I’d not imagine he’d be happy to have his daughter defiled by the lecherous Black blood traitor.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes, “I’ll have you know that I am blissfully under forty, still. You can’t claim as much, Moony. How old is your wife again?” 

Remus sighed, clearly regretting this turn of conversation. “The only reason you’re younger is because your cousin bested you in a duel and threw you into a set of drapes. Let’s not start with one-uppers, Pads. You’ll lose.”

 

ii.  
Take Me to Church  
-or-  
Lessons Learned

 

Pansy sighed as she ran a brush through her damp hair. It had been a long day. A long life, really. There were a multitude of reasons why she was here, specifically. The first one being that, without her mother, Pansy had no reason to be loyal to a cause that was slowly sucking away her dignity. 

Posy Parkinson had disappeared six months ago, and though she was still declared “missing,” it was a silent acknowledgement amongst her peers that Posy would never be found. 

Pansy had disavowed her ideology that day, not that she’d ever taken much stock in the pureblood nonsense in the first place. 

She’d lost her virginity to a muggleborn Hufflepuff in fourth year. Secretly, of course. Though it was never mentioned between the two again, Pansy remembered thinking that there was no way that boy was inferior, he was too good with his hands. 

If her father had ever found out, Pansy was sure she’d have been deemed sick, but she spent the rest of her Hogwarts education allowing her mind to be poisoned by the actual reality that being worshipped was only good in the bedroom. 

A soft knock on her door alerted her to the presence of her best friend, who was eyeing her lack of clothing with amusement. 

“Getting ready to rub one out, are we?” 

Her robes fell open as she stood brazenly in front of him, the opening revealing just what she would be “rubbing” out. 

“Don’t mock,” she chided, “I didn’t hear you complaining when I took you to Church to learn how to please a woman.” 

He snorted, “Please, let’s not pretend I was the only one who got enjoyment out of that.” 

They laughed together for a moment together and Pansy re-did her robes. 

“So, Sirius Black,” she said casually, a leer forming on her face. 

Draco sighed in exasperation. 

“Pansy, he is twenty years older than you, and is a Black. They’re not exactly known for their sanity. I blame the inbreeding.” 

“He’s still good looking,” she mused, “and if what I’ve heard through the grapevine is true, he’s quite the competent lover.”

“He’s technically my cousin, Pans. I don’t want to be in the middle of whatever fallback that would cause, because it most certainly would have some sort of fallback. Can’t you just, I don’t know, abstain for a while?” 

She rolled her eyes. If he’d had it his way, she’d be sent to a convent. The muggle kind. Pansy shuddered internally. 

“It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, Draco. But, I need no absolutions.” She grinned at her slightly prudish friend. 

“I’ve always enjoyed tiptoeing the line of insanity, anyways.” She raised a sardonic brow at him as his expression fell into a more concerned look, which made her more uneasy than his customary sneer did. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he admitted softly. 

“Well, when your father allows you to be passed around as a Death Eater whore, at the bequest of his Master, hurt is unavoidable.” 

She hadn’t meant to snap at him, and immediately felt a twinge of guilt. Draco was one of the only men on that side of the war that had never taken advantage of her. 

“I’m fine, Draco. Do I look weak to you?” 

He finally shook his head, striding towards her before circling his arms around her waist. He placed a soft kiss atop her head before letting her go. 

“Okay, I believe you,” he said, “but you can’t be mad at me for worrying.” 

She nodded, and he strode across the hall to his own bedroom, giving her a wave before disappearing behind his door. 

She sighed, walking over to the armoire and the full length mirror in its door. She picked her wand up, silently drying her hair and pinning it atop her head. Staring at her reflection contemplatively, Pansy thought, as she did often, about control and its place in her life. She was the poster child for “daddy issues” and the names female Death Eaters reserved for her were less than pleasant. Pansy scoffed internally as she thought of them. Most were pureblood society witches who just spewed the same regurgitation their families did. They didn’t actually put any thought into what came out of their mouths. It might have been this fact that made the other witches so leery of muggleborns, and girls like Pansy. 

She sighed. It was a shame she’d become so cynical, so young. 

Laying down atop the soft covers of the four poster bed she’d been granted, Pansy ran her hands up and down her body, finding that sweet spot she needed to temporarily relieve the troubles of her life. Her sighs and moans were soft despite throwing up silencing charms and wards around her suite, possibly due to being forced to remain silent for so long. 

Coming down from a blissful high, Pansy swore that God must be a woman because… heaven spoke to her everytime she needed, and commanded her to be redeemed of all sins, even if just for that one second. She was pure. 

Pansy supposed maybe Draco was right. The last thing that the two reformed Death Eaters needed was trouble. 

Amen, indeed. 

 

iii.  
No Masters or Kings  
-or-  
Sirius finds a kink— I mean, kindred spirit

 

Sirius began his morning ritual as he usually did, with a wank in the shower. He’d been told he was a cranky bastard if he didn’t get off at least once a day. Hermione had affectionately dubbed him a “disgusting cretin,” which would have offended him, had he not known the witch herself was a shrew-like harpy who loved verbally abusing him. She was all talk, and one of his best friends. 

He sighed, wishing he had a witch to do this to him. 

He began stroking himself to the basic image of a superficial woman with voluptuous curves, faceless, as she was meant to be, for she represented only the need to satisfy himself. 

Sirius groaned as he imagined her, writhing underneath him, fingers digging into his back. His hand lathered and splayed across his erection in a languid rhythm, because mornings weren’t for frantic escapades. 

He imagined her legs hitching around his waist, her lips coming to his ear, whispering how good he felt to her, before chuckling seductively. He imagined looking into her face, his eyes meeting her green ones, and suddenly her hair was longer, in dark waves, and her mouth was turned up in the smirk she was wearing when he met her last night. 

“Sirius,” the Pansy in his mind whispered, and he could feel himself coming close to the edge. He grunted, falling off the precipice he’d been balancing on, and the shower wall felt cool against his forehead as he leant over to catch his breath. 

Well, he thought factually, Remus is most definitely going to be mad at me. 

He walked downstairs a while later to find Draco and Pansy in the kitchen, arguing, if the raised voices were any indication. 

“That is completely beside the point, Pansy!” Draco snapped defensively. 

“Then why were you moaning her name in your sleep?” Pansy said. Her eyes fell on Sirius and her smirk widened. 

“Good morning, Sirius.” 

“Cousin,” Draco dipped his head, and Sirius nodded a greeting to both of them as he made his way towards the stove where he could see a steaming cuppa waiting. 

After adding a dash of firewhiskey, he joined the gathering around the island and stared at his guests. 

“You two alright?” 

“Ask Draco’s pants,” Pansy snickered, to which Draco retorted that she was an awful human being before huffing and crossing his arms petulantly. Sirius looked between the two of them confusedly. 

In the light of the day that peeked through the kitchen windows, he realized that Pansy Parkinson was not passingly pretty, as he’d initially thought. She was beautiful. Her skin was flawless save for a faint scar across the bridge of her nose. He could see toned legs peeking from the slits in her robes, and her hair was kinked immaculately down her back, artfully pulled away from her face. She wore no makeup, and her green gaze was bright with composed amusement. 

Draco huffed, turning to Sirius he raised his hands in exasperation. 

“I’m going the library, I need to see if there’s any way to remove this blasted mark,” he said, gesturing to his covered forearm, and swiftly exited the kitchen. 

He noticed Pansy looking despondently at her own forearm, where he assumed she also had the Dark Mark burned onto her skin. Her eyes were far away, seeing things that he could not, yet he could smell the guilt and revulsion coming off of her in waves. 

“Sometimes the gods demand a sacrifice too great for us to bear,” he said quietly. Pansy inclined her head. 

“It’s a blemish, a visual reminder of my sins,” she stated, “Draco is confident that between him and Granger, they can find a way to remove it. . .” her voice trailed off. 

Sirius quirked a brow. “You don’t think so?” 

She shrugged. “This war will end one way or another, Black. Regardless of which side, I will have to atone for my transgressions. If the Dark Lord wins, I’ll be tortured and eventually killed for defecting. If the Order wins, the Ministry will try me for treason, at best. So I either have a future in Azkaban, or at the Dark Lord’s mercy. I have no delusions about my fate.”

Sirius was captivated by the witch before him. 

She said these things, not with a righteous conviction, or fear, but with a factual indifference. Sirius supposed that she was right. He knew himself that regardless of turning sides, she would never be seen as anything else. 

Sirius was proven innocent and some people still regarded him with fear. 

His sympathy for the witch grew. 

“Why did you come to us, then? Why not stay revered amongst Voldemort’s ranks?” 

She laughed. “Oh, Black,” she said, her voice brittle, “the only time I was revered was when I was on my back, or on my knees. But I stayed. I stayed and took whatever they gave me, killed innocent people, cursed them. My father said that if I didn’t, they’d kill my mother. So when she disappeared, there was no reason for me to say. He had nothing keeping me there, and I think he knew it. It was only a matter of time before I disappeared too.” 

Sirius didn’t know what to say to her, so he kept quiet. He thought about reaching for her hand in an attempt to comfort, but thought better of it. She seemed to be the type that would take physical affection after being vulnerable as a sign of pity. So he did what Sirius Black did best: He kept talking. He charmed, he laughed, he joked. He did everything he knew how to and was rewarded when her lips softened from her trademark smirk into a more genuine smile. 

“Want to see the best thing ever created?” 

She snorted, “The best thing ever created?” 

He nodded. “You shouldn’t doubt me, love.” 

He stood up, holding his hand out to her in a silent offer. She very briefly allowed her gaze to roam his figure before placing her hand in his, and letting him guide her out to a garage where a large black contraption sat intimidatingly amongst the different tools strown about the place. 

“This is a motorcycle,” Sirius explained, watching as she dragged her fingers along the supple leather seat. The saddlebags on either side were of the same material and color, but she paid them little attention. 

“What does it do?” she asked. 

“Well, it’s a muggle means of transportation, not unlike the Knight Bus. You drive it,” he explained lamely, still following her nimble fingers as she now traced the chrome handlebars. She gripped the steering wheel with intrigue, glancing at him and raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. 

“You ride this?” She asked incredulously. “It doesn’t look like it would hold more than one person.” 

“Two,” he corrected, coming over to sit on the leather seat and start the bike expertly “You’ll have to swing your leg over, like you’re straddling a broom.”

Pansy looked at him somewhat skeptical, her robes swaying and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. 

Well, that won’t do, he thought. 

Waving his wand towards her, he transfigured her clothing into something more appropriate for a midday ride. Her white muscle shirt was peeking from under a leather jacket, and Sirius swallowed when he realized she hadn’t been wearing a bra. The white gave way to a pale expanse of her midriff, leading into light washed jean shorts that frayed at the ends, and were enticingly short. Her long legs, surprising given her slight stature, were more muscular than he’d imagined, and gave way to sturdy combat boots. All in all, his mouth watered with the need to confess his sinful thoughts to her then and there. 

Pansy glanced down at herself, taking account of the job he’d done before nodding resolutely and taking a seat behind him, her toned thighs gripping the outside of his. 

Good God, he thought, I’d give you my life. 

He grinned at her over his shoulder before revving the engine and taking off down the street. 

 

 

iv.  
That looks tasty. This is hungry work.  
-or-  
I want you

 

 

They’d flown Sirius’s bike for over an hour before he landed them on a wide cliff overlooking the English countryside. The expansive green hills were topped with blossoms and dandelions that were swept into the breeze. 

It was an uncommonly hot day, and now that Pansy didn’t have the wind whipping into her face, she could feel the beginnings of perspiration on her skin. 

Sirius must have been thinking along the same lines because he shrugged out of his own riding jacket, revealing a thin cotton v-neck. He waved his wand and conjured a blanket and dining utensils. Out of the saddlebags he pulled out a picnic basket. Pansy raised her eyebrows. 

“Undetectable Extension Charm,” she mused, “that is impressive magic.” 

He shrugged, offering her a saucy smirk, “I’m a man of many talents.” 

She felt herself warm over, and Sirius grinned knowingly. 

Pansy decided she didn’t like feeling as though she didn’t have the upper hand in a situation. 

“Why did you bring me here, Sirius?” 

He paused, setting the magically chilled bottle of firewhiskey back in the basket, and offered her a glass, which she took gratefully. 

“There were a few reasons,” he stated slowly, his grey gaze regarding her cautiously. 

“I know what it’s like, being on the run. Feeling caged,” he began, “I know what it feels like to go against everything you’ve ever known, and it’s bloody terrifying. I wanted to show you that you staying with… us… doesn’t have to be all that bad.” 

She mulled over his words, the way his beautiful mouth formed those heavenly confessions. She knocked her head back, chugging the rest of her tumblr before offering her glass to him, silently asking for both a refill and for him to continue. 

“There is also,” he began again slowly, sounding as though he was weighing his words carefully. How Slytherin of you, she thought. “-the fact that I could smell your attraction to me since the moment I first spoke to you,” he finished. 

She didn’t often get flustered, and she wasn’t about to start now. She leant black on her forearms, stretching her legs in front of her and crossing them at her ankles. 

“Is that so?” She asked, the sudden turn of the conversation intriguing her. 

Sirius didn’t answer, but instead placed a small plate of fresh fruit in front of her. 

She brought a piece of pineapple to her mouth and bit in, a soft moan coming through as she savored the ripe taste. 

Sirius’s eyes darkened. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the firewhiskey passed between them to balance out the sweet taste of the fruit. Pansy was incredibly impressed by the set up he had prepared for them, and she allowed herself to prop against the tree they were sitting under. 

“So say I was interested…. what would you say?” 

It has been said in Greek mythology that the consecration of love between Eros, the God of love and desire, and his human consort, Psyche, turned the human woman immortal, and thus was borne the concept of deification of the human soul. Together they had a daughter, Hedone, who was the physical manifestation of pleasure. Sirius had often partaken in hedonism, and was not ashamed of it. He believed wholeheartedly that reverence of a woman was the highest honor she could bestow upon a man. 

Pansy was lying against the trunk of the shade tree with her arms gripping roots. Her knees bent and parted slightly, seductively. She had a sheen of sweat, from the heat and firewhiskey, coating her body. A pool of it glistened in the hollow of her throat, a bead making its way down her chest. 

Sirius’s eyes were drawn to that damn drop of sweat, and his body shifted closer to her so he could run a hand slowly up her calf, coming to rest just behind her knee. 

“I’d say you were playing with fire, witch.” 

And with that, he yanked her towards him. 

 

v.  
The only heaven I’ll be sent to  
-or-  
I licked it, so it’s mine

 

Pansy immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, not wholly surprised, yet still struck breathless by his actions. He immediately went to work on her -- kissing, biting and sucking on her pulse point until she was a wanton, heaving mess. 

He lowered his body down hers, sliding onto his knees. He removed her boots and socks, making sure to kiss the insides of her ankles as he did so. 

Moving his way up her body, his nimble fingers undid the buttons of her shorts, slowly pulling them off of her and tossing them haphazardly over his shoulder. 

She hurriedly tugged her shirt off and Sirius chuckled darkly at her impatience. 

“I was enjoying unwrapping you,” he said with lustful inflection as he pressed open mouthed kisses on each of her legs. 

The juncture of her thighs was covered in a green silk that gleamed at him enticingly. Her scent was potent, a fragrant musk that was sweet and fresh to him, and caused his cock to strain against his jeans. But he was determined to properly worship the witch. Determined to show her that not every wizard will subjugate her to their own selfish desires. 

Here, splayed out before him like ripe fruit at an alter, she was a goddess. He ran his nose along her seam, delighting in the way she shuddered above him. 

Sliding her knickers to the side, he glanced at her, bare before him and glistening with her arousal. 

“I’m going to show you what devotion looks like,” he whispered as he glanced up at her, noting her eyes were dilated with lust. 

He made quick work of divesting her of her knickers and settled himself in to pay homage to her body in the most exquisite of ways. 

He made love to her with his mouth, tugging and licking her centre until she was thrashing and begging for him to take her. He coaxed her orgasm from her with relative ease, which made him smirk triumphantly. 

“Sirius, please,” Pansy begged.

Well, since you asked so nicely. 

He quickly tugged off his jeans before flipping their positions so she was on top of them, her long hair hanging in curtains between them, sweat pooling at the junction of their bodies. 

“Take your offering,” he commanded simply. 

Feeling a transfer of power, Pansy allowed a grin to cover her face as she slid inch, by torturous inch until he was fully sheathed in her. They groaned simultaneously. 

In that moment, she felt pure, innocent, clean.

She felt a spiritual pull towards him, like magic was blessing their union. She’d never felt so overwhelmed by a man. She began moving against him, easily finding a rhythm that had him gripping her hips and lifting his own to match her thrusts. 

“Faster, angel,” he breathed, “you’re killing me.” 

“I think I like you begging,” she panted. 

He groaned and flipped them over in a fluid move that surprised her and excited her. With a snap of his hips he began driving in and out of her whispering how good she felt, and how he’d been waiting to be with someone like her. The building heat that licked across her skin sparked, and she came apart again, her flexing walls demanding a sacrifice from him as his own orgasm was pulled from him. He gave a few good thrusts before collapsing on top of her, their sweat soaked bodies mingling in that awful summer heat. 

Sirius rolled off of her, wandlessly casting cooling charms on the both of them before leaning against the bark of the tree. 

He reached out and stroked her hair reverently. 

“Are you okay?” 

She scoffed, “Of course I’m okay. I’ve just been thoroughly shagged. Did you feel the magic?” 

He nodded, “I guess magic thinks we’re compatible.” His brow furrowed slightly.

She laughed, “Don’t sound so sure.” 

“No,” he backpedaled, “I’ve just never felt that before.” 

A light blush spread across her cheeks.

“Me either,” she admitted softly, “do you think that’s going to happen every time?” 

He grinned lecherously at her, “I don’t know,” he said seductively, “I guess we will have to try a few more times, just to make sure one way or another.” 

His bottom lip tugged hers playfully, and she leant into him, savoring each kiss he gave her, thinking that maybe she had been starved for the type of attention he was giving her. That faithful, hungry stare he was bestowing on her, that beautiful mouth speaking her sermon as he lowered himself over her. 

She could get used to this, and that was her last coherent thought before she allowed herself to fall into madness. 

Amen, indeed. 

 

Fin


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, All. I have gotten requests to continue this fest piece. So, here I am!

**Chapter 2**

For the Weight of Us - By Sanders Bohlk

_i._

_There’s a Cold heart, buried beneath  
-Or-  
The time in the Library _

* * *

 

Draco sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He’d been pouring over tome after ancient tome in the Black Family library, searching and praying for an answer. His only goal was to remove the stain of the Dark Lord’s hold over him. 

The mark had been burning since he defected. Draco knew the Dark Lord was furious, and this was the only way he could punish him for the treachery. 

Draco didn’t know exactly when he had stopped believing in the cause, or if he ever had. He’d been raised spouting his father’s ideology, and hadn’t thought much on it, until he got to Hogwarts and had been bested consistently by a muggleborn witch. Effortlessly, on her part. 

Granger. 

He could still remember her screaming and writhing in agony on the drawing room floor in Malfoy Manor. It might have been that moment, though he’d already been giving information to the Order, that Draco truly believed he’d made the right decision. 

The next two weeks had been brutal, his family tortured incessantly for allowing Potter and his friends to escape, but Draco had taken it with the only comforting thought that if Harry Potter lived, there was still a chance to escape this hell. 

When word had gotten around that the Order had a spy in the Death Eaters’ ranks, he knew it was time to leave. His mother had hastily tried to follow as he and Pansy made their escape, but Bellatrix had found them, and his mother had pushed them onward whilst she turned to duel her sister. The last thing Draco had seen before his emergency portkey activated was his mother’s grim smile as a burst of green light hit her square in the chest. 

His eyes burned thinking about it. 

_I’m not ready._

He wondered if he’d ever be whole again. 

_Doubtful,_ he thought bitterly. 

Returning to the latest book he’d been reviewing, Draco tried to focus on translating the text in his head. 

It was a book written by Morgana Le Fey, a dark witch from Arthurian times, and she proposed that charms and hexes could be picked apart if one knew the theory behind the charm’s makeup. 

Damn. 

Maybe he was onto something. Draco had never actually tried to examine the spellwork behind the Dark Mark, and he would need to be extremely careful lest he burn his arm off or something equally horrendous. 

“Malfoy?” the voice was surprised, laced with ire, and Draco turned to face the bane of his existence. 

“Granger,” he said, inclining his head and allowing a slight smirk to grace his lips. 

Her mouth was thin. “I’d heard you’d defected, you and Parkinson. Didn’t think I’d have to see your mug this soon, though.” 

Draco shrugged, “The wards on Grimmauld are nearly impenetrable. Considering the Dark Lord wants me dead nearly as bad as Potter, I’d say this is the safest place I could be.” 

She scoffed, “Pity.” 

She shrugged out of her coat, and plopped down on the couch adjacent to him with a small bag in her lap. Reaching her arm in all the way to her shoulder, she rummaged around and pulled out a book that was easily half her weight. 

Draco merely returned to his own text. 

Silence was interrupted only by the slipping of pages and the occasional shifting of positions from the Libraries occupants. Draco found her silence to be a relief, despite her hostility. It was not often Draco was able to enjoy a quiet environment anymore. 

He peered over his text at Granger, who was engrossed in whatever book she was reading. Her eyes were a dark amber, devouring the text she read as they rapidly flew over the pages. She had her feet tucked under her legs, the dark blue skirt she was wearing blanketing around her.  
She wore a simple button-up blouse, the top three buttons undone, but tastefully so. It barely hinted at the swell of her breasts. Her dark curls cascaded wildly over her shoulders, and Draco would occasionally see her blow waywards curls out of her face. On the whole, he found the whole scene rather enticing. 

And suddenly, he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. 

“Granger,” he said , pausing to wait for her to acknowledge him. Granger looked up and cocked her head to the side, a slight crease between her brows as though she was wondering why he’d speak to her, let alone in a cordial tone. 

“Yes?”

“How good would you say you are at magical theory?”

She smirked, “I’m adequate.”

He almost laughed, but didn’t. “I’m trying to find a way to remove the Dark Mark.”

She closed her book, resting her forearms on it as she leant forward, pondering his statement. The blouse she was wearing parting slightly. Draco kept his eyes on her face, waiting. Not looking. 

At. All. 

“The Dark Mark is a warped variation of the Protean Charm. It seems to be a perversion created by Voldemort himself. Undoing the charms will be dangerous, as it’s highly likely he has boobytraps in the charm itself.” 

Draco sighed, “I know that, Granger, but the problem is that the Mark hurts whereas the Protean Charm doesn’t, it only heats up to communicate. Did he do that on purpose? Or was it just a side effect of all the enchantments?” 

Hermione placed a hand on her chin thoughtfully, “I doubt he would care, either way.” 

She moved from her spot on the opposite end of the room and grabbed his arm, pulling the sleeve up and bearing the Mark for them both to see. 

“Granger! What the bloody hell are you doing?” 

“Oh, honestly,” she scoffed, “You want the damned thing off, and sitting here theorizing about it isn’t going to help because I can tell you I’ve already tried looking in these books for information on it, and I can tell you there isn’t any.” 

He slammed the book shut with a sense of finality. The opportunity she presented was not lost on him, and he _finally_ had the chance to have a stimulating intellectual conversation with her. 

“As you well know,” he steepled his fingers, leaning towards her, “any spell is about _intent._ The Protean Charm was designed to link objects together for a specific purpose. For messaging, such as the one you used in fifth year. _Yes_ ,” he insisted, cutting off the interruption she’d been about to make, “I was aware of the coins you used. Impressive magic, by the way.” 

He smirked as her surprised expression settled into a glare. 

“What if Voldemort anticipated deflection, doubt, or any other regretful feeling towards his cause? What if he reworked the spell to demand obedience? Because I can tell you, Granger, any time I had an inkling of doubt, the Dark Lord knew, and the Mark became painful, demanding I comply.” 

He could see her expressive brown eyes widen with recognition, and her mouth dropped open slightly as she licked her lips. Draco knew, infuriatingly so, that she had no idea how enticing the movement was. 

“So a layered charm? One that requires obedience, loyalty, and summoning? Maybe a rework of the Imperius Curse? Or a Confundus? Malfoy, this will take work to unravel.” Her shoulders broadened, and she wore the expression Draco knew she had when presented with a challenge. 

“So is that it, Granger?” He drawled, “Will you help me rid myself of this blasted curse?” 

An almost-sneer formed on her face. “Only so I can save others like you, Malfoy. Don’t worry, though, I’m still just a Mudblood.” 

She bared her arm to him and he just barely controlled himself from flinching. Mudblood, angrily carved into her forearm, branding her forever. 

Anger filled him. How dare she think he’d ever do that to her? 

He stood abruptly, swishing his robes to right themselves as he stared her down. 

“Don’t call yourself that,” he ground out. 

Hermione watched him leave, a pensive look on her face.

* * *

_ii._  
And warm blood, running deep  
-or-  
Change was inevitable 

* * *

 

_Why did I say that to him?_

Hermione, flustered by her own actions, quickly retreated to the quiet comfort her bedroom provided. She hadn’t meant to snap at Malfoy, but honestly? It was the first time since that night that she’d had to see him. Logically, she knew that his hand had not held the wand that tortured her so mercilessly, but he’d been there. Though Hermione knew his hands had been tied, she couldn’t help but think him cowardly, as unsurprising as that was. She herself would have rather died than become enslaved by inaction. 

If she were being honest with herself, Hermione wasn’t sure how to come to terms with his presence in the one place she felt safe. It felt wrong, like a violation. No matter that she could see the very real regret in his eyes as he’d regarded her, the timidness with which he spoke to her, not his usual standard. 

_War changes people._

Hermione herself had changed. She was harder, more cynical. Her once virtuous honor and righteousness were gone. She was no longer willing to allow Voldemort and his followers to slaughter innocent people without reciprocating in kind. 

Many had begged for life while staring down the end of her wand, and she hadn’t shown mercy. 

_There is blood on my hands._

They had all changed, little pieces of themselves chipping away every time someone else was lost, every time they had to grieve again. 

Maybe Hermione was judging Malfoy too harshly, she mused. Life had undoubtedly been no easier for him, because for all that Draco Malfoy had been in school - an arrogant, prejudiced bully - Hermione knew that he wasn’t a cold blooded murderer. 

Maybe she felt some compassion for him. That didn’t mean she couldn’t hate him. He’d certainly earned it. 

But Hermione would help him with his godforsaken Dark Mark, because she had no doubt that plenty of others had also been coerced into joining, by either fear for themselves or for their families. 

The tell-tale rumbling of an engine drew Hermione into the kitchen, knowing Sirius would be coming in shortly. She’d missed him greatly, having not seen any of her friends in nearly three weeks. 

She immediately went to put the kettle on, already preparing for a long night of catching up. 

Imagine her surprise when Sirius stumbled into the kitchen clinging to a woman. Well, the clinging to the woman part wasn’t surprising, but said woman being Pansy bloody Parkinson was. 

Hermione felt her lip curl in distaste. 

“My, my, Sirius,” she drawled, “what do we have here?” 

The two entwined bodies, previously oblivious to anyone other than themselves, whirled around abruptly, two pairs of eyes growing wide, though one was with mirth and the other apprehension. 

“‘Mione, my love,” Sirius cajoled, striding up and sweeping her into a hug. 

“Sirius,” Hermione replied joyfully, hugging her friend enthusiastically, his cheerfulness contagious. “It is so good to see you,” she whispered into his ear, and he squeezed her tighter, kissing her cheek. 

“I’ve missed you too, kitten,” Sirius said, before grabbing the hand of the witch behind him, “may I introduce you to Pansy-”

“Parkinson,” Hermione finished with a sneer, “I should’ve known wherever Malfoy was, you’d follow.” 

Pansy looked unfazed as she levelled Hermione’s glare with one of her own. 

“We’re on the same side, Granger,” Parkinson retorted. 

Hermione scoffed, “Yes, well,” she paused, “we will see about that. Do try and keep from fornicating in the kitchen, I’d like to be able to keep my lunch.” 

Pansy smirked. “I didn’t know you were such a prude, Granger.” 

“I’m not, but I am considerate of communal spaces. Just make sure you respect my house, eh, slag?” 

“Hermione,” Sirius warned. 

She held up a hand to stop him, and he sighed before slumping down into a bar stool petulantly, watching the two women eye each other. 

Pansy seemed to be struggling with what she wanted to say. “I’m sorry for how… horrid I was to you in school,” she finally said, and Hermiones glare lessened, albeit only slightly. 

“I accept your apology,” she replied, “but don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten, or that I trust you.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes, “Duly noted. Sirius, can we go now?” 

Sirius stood up and once again kissed Hermione’s cheek before taking Pansy’s hand to make leave. 

“Oh, and Parkinson?” Hermione’s voice called behind them. 

Pansy turned and cocked her head. 

“You hurt him,” Hermione stated purposefully, “One hair on his head out of place, you will be looking down the business end of my wand. Make no mistake, I will end you.” 

Her amber gaze was hard, no sign of deception or untruth in them, and Pansy felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine even as she nodded her head. 

Hermione Granger was not one to be trifled with.

* * *

_iii._  
Shake off all your sins  
-or-  
The Protean Charm

* * *

 

The soft knocking on his door turned his attention away from the scroll he was reading. Pansy let herself in, as usual, and flopped onto his bed gracefully. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

“Researching the Protean Charm. It’s very old,” Draco said, not looking up from his research. “It was the method of communication before that Egyptian bloke discovered how to make parchment from papyrus. Owls were unable to carry huge blocks of wood on their own, as the Featherweight Charm wasn’t invented until the late ninth century.” 

“Interesting,” she said, “I take it you’re still on this kick to remove our little parasites?” 

“Indeed,” he said, then added, “Granger is going to help.” 

“Is she now? That witch is something else,” Pansy smirked, “just got done threatening me, she did.” 

Draco finally looked up at her. “Seriously?” 

Pansy nodded, “I swear, and she bloody meant it, too. I have no intention of ever dueling that witch, rest assured. I doubt I’d last very long, in any respect.” 

“No,” Draco agreed, “I don’t expect you would. Granger knows more spells than even Snape and she’s a wicked quick draw. Why was she threatening you?” 

Pansy blushed, “She might have seen Sirius and I holding hands.” 

“Merlin, Pans, you’re hopeless. I hope he’s treating you well.” 

“Oh, he is,” she leered, and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

She laughed. 

“So,” she began, customary smirk in place, “you and Granger working together, huh? Are you going to tell her the truth?” 

Draco sighed, “No, I don’t see the point. She hates me, not that I blame her.” 

“I do not understand, you’re the only reason they got out of the manor that night. Can she not see that?” 

“I watched her be put under the Cruciatus, Pans, I doubt she can see past that.”

“Yea? Well, welcome to the club. We’ve all been tortured at one point or another. I doubt Potter and his bleeding Gryffindor friends will care, they’re too caught up in their own self-righteousness.” 

Draco eyed her, “What about Black? He’s just as Gryffindor as the rest of them.” 

Pansy snorted, “He was raised by the most devout pureblood family that ever existed. Sirius Black may shine red and gold, but I doubt his upbringing ever left. You’ve seen him duel, that night at the Battle of Hogwarts. He’s merciless, cold and calculating. He doesn’t possess the same recklessness Potter and Weasley do. Neither does Granger, actually.” 

“No,” Draco agreed with a dip of his head, “I suppose you’re right. Black is powerful in his own right. But Granger, she is the crown jewel in the collection on their side of the war. She’s vicious,” he stated factually, bringing a hand to the cheek she’d slapped all of those years ago. 

“ _Our_ side,” he corrected. “We’re supposed to be on the same side now.”

She nodded.

“Do not underestimate Potter, either,” Pansy continued, “anyone that can foil the Dark Lord so many times can not just being doing so out of sheer luck, though the Dark Lord himself would say otherwise.”

Draco agreed, then he sighed in defeat. 

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to-” he started 

A silver wolf bounded into the room, and stopped just before them. 

“ _Death Eaters_ ,” it said in a voice Draco recognized as Lupin’s. “ _Diagon Alley. We’re outnumbered. Send reinforcements immediately_.”

Pansy and Draco were immediately on their feet, wands already brandished as they bounded downstairs, running into Sirius and Hermione. 

“Draco,” Sirius said urgently, “You and Pansy apparate outside of Knockturn, Hermione and I will take the main entrance. Disillusion yourself now.”

“Take one of these,” Hermione thrusted two coins into either of their hands, and Draco recognized them as the same coins she’d used during their fifth year for the illegal defense club she and Potter created. 

“Any one of our side doesn’t believe you, show them these,” Granger continued hastily. “Most of the Order knows you’ve defected, but some may have been away on mission. Be safe, apparate back here, bring any survivors you can.”

She quickly grabbed Black’s hand, and with a swish of her robes, they were gone. 

“Are you ready?” Pansy’s face was white, though her eyes were determined. 

Draco nodded. “Watch my back.” And with that, he disapperated them into the madness.

* * *

_iv._  
And kings, who kill us fine  
-or-  
She dealt death before me

* * *

 

Hermione and Sirius ran into a kaleidoscope of color as they barged through the entrance at the Leaky Cauldron. Sirius immediately ran to the aid of Remus, who was dueling Crabbe Sr., Macnair and Augustus Rookwood simultaneously. 

Hermione glanced at her surroundings, taking note of her side’s well being before jumping in to assist Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was dueling none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, and by the looks of it, he was losing. 

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ” she shouted wildly, jumping in between Kingsley and his foe, immediately conjuring a shield charm in front of him. 

Bellatrix paused, taking note of Hermione before smiling with manic glee. 

“Oh, pretty little mudblood,” she cackled, “ready for me to finish you off for good this time?”

“You talk too much,” Hermione snarled before throwing an entrail expelling curse at Bellatrix, who dodged it easily. 

“Oh? You want to play?” She cooed, “Let’s play, poppet.”

And the duel began. 

Hermione would never let her fear show as she dodged curse after curse, reciprocating when she could. Bellatrix was a fearsome dueler, without morals or conscience. The fact that she was more than slightly unhinged made her dangerous, albeit predictable. 

“ _Bombarda!_ ” The dark witch shouted, and Hermione felt her footing slip as the ground beneath her feet erupted, shooting rubble in either direction. She quickly shielded herself and Kingsley, who seemed to have recovered from his fatigue, and the two Order members quickly began throwing spell after spell, but none of them seemed to touch Bellatrix, who was laughing maniacally at them. 

“You won’t best me!” she snarled, “I will quite enjoy killing you. The Minister of Magic and the Brightest Witch of Her Age. Oh, how the Dark Lord will reward me for killing you!” 

“Bella, what did we say about playing with our food?” A new voice entered the fray, and Hermione paled as Antonin Dolohov came to his partner’s aid, his eyes gleaming with mirth. 

“To only play if I’m willing to share,” Bellatrix pouted playfully, before stepping aside and allowing him to take his place next to her. 

The duel was more fearsome than before, and Hermione could feel herself tiring. Dolohov was unpredictable at best. A spell creator, he was casting hexes and curses in her direction that Hermione had no idea how to counteract, so she and Kingsley had to go on the defensive, dodging and producing shield after shield. 

Dolohov was moving closer towards Hermione, and before she could react, a sickening purple charm flew from his wand and hit her shoulder, sending her flying backwards into the brick wall of Diagon Alley. 

_“Hermione!”_

_“Granger!”_

She felt as though her veins were liquified fire, and her limbs felt tingly. But somehow, she knew she would be okay, because Hermione would know that voice anywhere. 

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

_“Expelliarmus!” “Incarcerous!”_

The fire continued to burn, and Hermione felt her eyes grow heavy. 

“Hermione!” a panicked voice was just above her, and her bleary eyes met those of Harry Potter.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” she said, sleepily, “it burns.”

“I know, love.” His voiced soothed her, like a balm on her burning flesh. “The Death Eaters are retreating, Moody and Lupin are making a sweep. It’s time to go home now, love.”

Her eyes closed. 

_“-Give her to me, you git!”_

_“I can’t believe he’s dead.”_

_“-Draco are you sure?-”_

_“I’ve got her, Potter! I’ve got her.”_

Darkness.

* * *

_v._  
Invade us, in innocent song  
-or-  
Vigil 

* * *

 

She was sleeping, finally. This was a good thing, considering she’d been very nearly dead only a few hours ago. 

Draco sat vigil by her bedside, his face gaunt and his eyes tired, but he would not sleep. Would not leave the room she’d been sequestered to whilst he healed her. 

Dolohov. 

A formidable spell creator, and completely without mercy or conscience. Draco felt that he’d been extremely lucky to have been under the Death Eater’s tutelage. 

It had saved her life tonight. 

The curse was one of Dolohov’s own creation. One that rapidly drew all of the oxygen out of the bloodstream, but not before making them suffocate first. Draco was one of the few who knew the countercurse.

So there he sat, not quite understanding his draw to the witch. Or, maybe he did. But she’d always confounded him, ever since they were eleven years old. 

“How is she?” Harry Potter stood by the door, calmer than a few hours prior when Draco had thrown him out and warded the doors shut. 

“She’ll live,” he said despondently. “She’ll need to rest over the next few days. The curse was depleting her oxygen levels, and her magical core was drained trying to protect her. She will be weak for a few days. But she’ll recover.”

Potter came and sat gracelessly in the chair next to him, and Draco tried not to recoil. They were on the same side, after all. But neither could ignore the history between them. 

They sat in silence for awhile, watching the steady rise and fall of Granger’s chest. Her dark mane of curls stuck to her cheek from sweat, though Draco still found her undeniably beautiful. 

He chanced a glance at Potter, and was not wholly surprised to see the other wizards gaze glistening with tears. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, “for saving her.”

Draco shrugged. “Someone has to keep you alive.”

Potter laughed mirthlessly, then his face hardened, “Thank you,” he said seriously. “This doesn’t change anything, though.”

Draco sneered half-heartedly, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Harry?”

Hermione’s sleepy voice spurred both wizards into action, stepping on either side of her bed as she rubbed her eyes and attempted to sit up, wincing as she did so. 

“Take it easy, Mione,” Potter said soothingly, brushing his hand across her cheek, “you need to rest. That was one nasty curse you took.”

Granger eyed her shoulder, where an angry purple scar was peeking out of her shirt. 

“Damn. Well, at least I have a matching set,” she said dryly. 

Draco started, “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s the second time that bastard has gotten me with that blasted curse,” she snarled weakly, “I had so hoped to repay him in kind.”

She lifted the bottom of her shirt, and Draco swallowed as the pale expanse of her abdomen gave way to, sure enough, another deep purple curse, although it had faded slightly. 

His fists clenched angrily. 

“Did you get him, Harry?” Hermione asked, oblivious to Dracos inner turmoil. 

Potter shook his head, “No, Malfoy did. Got him in the back with an Avada.”

Hermione’s gaze turned on him, and Draco remained impassive. 

“A curse to the back?” She asked, intrigued. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to give away my advantage,” he drawled. “I suppose you think it was cowardly, and I should have challenged him to a proper duel while you were busy dying?”

Hermione smirked slightly. “No, actually,” she began, “I was going to say nice work. I would have done the same thing.”

The wizard and witch looked at each other, years of bad blood between them, and Draco felt it. It was barely there, almost not noticeable, but it was. Some of the tension had faded. 

“Well,” he said, straightening his robes, “I’ll leave you to it.”

He began to exit the room, but as his hand went to close the door, she called to him. 

“Malfoy?”

He paused, not turning to face her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, “for saving me.”

He didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge that she’d even said anything, and closed the door behind him.


End file.
